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Quite a while ago, lots of bloggers were raving about The True Story of Stellina, by Matteo Pericoli, but it didn’t come into my library collection under my watchful eyes, and I missed it. Then something made me think of it again and I ordered it from a different branch, and oh, I’m so glad.

What a sweet book. But not sticky sweet. I’ve read it at home. I’ve read it to second graders. I’ve read it to fifth graders. If I had a preschooler class, I’d read it to them.

The book is about a small bird who was found in NYC, brought home by the author’s wife, and who lived with them for many years and eventually died. That’s it.

But it’s the poetry of the story and the soft illustrations that make the book so special. When I read it to the fifth graders, I asked them what stood out in my reading that made the story a poem. (They picked up on the author’s repetition of “Holly, my wife.”) I also read a page both the way it was written with the right pauses, and the way it would be read without the pauses. But that was the extent of my poetry lesson, I mostly let the book speak for itself. As I will, briefly, here:

Holly, my wife,once saw a very little birdon the corner of46th and Third.In Manhattan.Cars were rushing by,ROOOOOOAAAARRRR!Cars are loud in the city.

But “CHEEP,” Holly heard.Holly, my wife, has very good ears.Could you also have heard“CHEEP” on the corner of 46th and Third,in the middle of the day,while cars were rushing by?ROOOOOOOAAAAAAR!That’s not easy to hear.

This is such a quiet book, and a perfect jumping-off place for talking about birds, poetry, or even New York City. Since I don’t have a NYC kid, I must request that someone buy it for your child (Brooklyn counts!) and share it. Over and over again.

The Rundown

One of the bestselling preschool books of recent times was Walter the Farting Dog. At the same time, the American Library Association named as one of its best books Michael Rosen’s Sad Book, a book in which Mr. Rosen talks about his despair over the death of his son. I believe that, for most of us, what we want lies somewhere between a flatulent canine and overwhelming grief.